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Coquetta, continued ...

The next morning broke frosty and still, typical early May weather in our high altitude valley. I groomed and saddled Coquetta. As the sun rose we took off to the west and north, up a sandy wash toward South Mountain. She begged to move fast, gliding smooth as silk, flaring her nostrils and looking about, ears swiveling like radar dishes. About 2 ½ miles later we had circled to Gail West's ranch. She was out in front of her barn grooming one of her prize-winning paints. (A paint horse has pinto markings and bloodlines that are a mix of Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred.) "Gail! I finally got a horse." "Horse? That's a pony." "Yeah, she's kind of ugly, too." "Ugly? She's not ugly." I thought of Coquetta's big ears and nose, then admired Gail's perfect paint. Was I ever going to own anything except ugly little mustangs? Gail looked me in the eye. "She's a different kind of horse. That's all."

Diana with Coquetta, soon after the mare arrived at Rattlesnake Acres. South Mountain is in the background.

Gail invited me to go riding with her on the King ranch, which stretches to the east and north of our homes. So a few days later we headed out from her ranch. After about a mile she pointed out the foundation of an old adobe farm home. "You'll find lots of these. About anywhere you see trees, you'll find the foundation of an old adobe home. Pinto bean fields used to cover most of this valley. Then the Depression came, and drought. They all went bust. The Kings bought up the land."

Heading home, Gail pointed to the crest of the hill to our right. "Two antelopes." Gail cued her mare into a lope. The antelopes kept pace with us. Coquetta speeded up with a "dit-dit-dit-dit" beat. It was not a trot, just a blur of leg motion, just like those prize winning Peruvian Pasos at the State Fair..

When a horse trots, the right front and left rear hooves land together, then the left front and right rear hooves land together. It's a diagonal motion and it bounces. Coquetta made each foot land one at a time at a perfectly even pace. Dit-dit-dit-dit. As one foot landed a balancing hoof always lifted up. Westerners call this the single-foot. One single foot landing at a time. Smooth as a hockey pock on ice.

Coquetta kept up with Gail's loping mare, but never broke out of her single-foot gait. Gail said, "I think she's a Paso Fino." That was the first time I had heard of Paso Finos, and it would not be the last.

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